


Coriander

by lemonoclefox



Series: Sway [8]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Meet-Cute, Slice of Life, Witchcraft, Witches, modern witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 16:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20294371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonoclefox/pseuds/lemonoclefox
Summary: Isabelle is watching the shop today.





	Coriander

**Author's Note:**

> I have another soft oneshot for you, this time from Isabelle's POV. Just a little more insight into the world and the other characters, some friendly banter, and oops some accidental mizzy (I didn't plan on it, but it's there. Kind of). Takes place after _Lavender_ and before _Holly_. Enjoy.
> 
> #SwayFic

Isabelle likes spending time at the shop. She likes to tease Alec that she works here, even though she really doesn't in any official capacity, and he'll begrudgingly let her stick around. Isabelle knows that he doesn't really mind. Her presence lets him slip out if he needs to, lets him go get a proper lunch rather than survive on a measly sandwich, or just skip the meal entirely. Isabelle, always a diligent sister, will have none of that.

And this shop means the world to Alec. She'll do whatever she can to help him manage it, even when it's going well, like now. It was a little bumpier a few years ago, when he had just taken it over from the previous owner. An impulse decision, Isabelle insisted, but her brother has never been one for caring too much about others' opinions; he trusts his gut, and he does so implicitly. Isabelle has always kind of admired that about him. She admires him unflinchingly going against the staked-out plans of their parents, and instead choosing a completely different, distinctly more humble path. Their parents are still warming up to it. Isabelle can count on one hand the amount of times they've visited this shop at all.

It's late morning, almost two hours since the shop opened for the day, and Isabelle is alone. Well, there are a few customers, one or two making a quick stop before work or school. But in terms of manning the shop, Isabelle is alone. Because Alec isn't here. He asked her to open for him, this morning, so that maybe he could sleep in for a little bit. It made Isabelle smile on the phone then, and it makes her smile now―Alec Lightwood never sleeps in. She's entirely sure what his reasons for being late actually are.

Magnus is good for him, that much is clear. They're good for each other, from what Isabelle can tell. She has only met Magnus a handful of times, a little more frequently since he and Alec officially started dating about a month ago, and she does like him. There's something guarded about him, though, something hidden behind layers of intricately raised walls, of both the magickal and metaphorical kind. But Isabelle doesn't ask, doesn't pry. Alec clearly cares for him, and it's clearly mutual ― the connection between them was a nearly palpable vibration in the air when she first saw them together, and that's all the reassurance she needs. That, and the utterly lovestruck, bright look on her brother's face. She has never seen anything like it, before.

When the bell above the door jingles, Isabelle is in the middle of flipping through a magazine. She has already plowed through several chapters of the brick of a novel she's reading, and while she enjoys it, she has now opted for a reprieve that requires a little less brainpower. It's not nearly interesting enough, though, to hold her attention when she sees who's at the door.

"Hey," she says in pleased surprise. "What are you guys doing here? Wait." She pauses, settling her brow into a disapproving frown. "You're not playing hooky, are you?"

Clary rolls her eyes, but lets out a laugh as she pulls her gloves off, Simon pushing the door shut behind them. A brief gust of November chill slips inside the shop, but is quickly cut off, the air immediately settling back into its constant, soft warmth. The shop smells faintly of plums today. Isabelle got to pick the scent.

"If I say yes," Clary says, making her way over to the counter, "are you gonna kick us out?"

"Him―" Isabelle points at Simon― "no. You, I might."

"Exactly," Simon says seriously. Unlike him, Clary is busy attending art school. "I'm not skipping anything. I'm an enabler, at worst."

"I think I liked it better back when you two weren't friends," Clary says, loosening the knitted scarf around her neck. Her pale cheeks and nose are flush from the cold outside. "I miss you not ganging up on me."

"Well, those days are long gone, I'm afraid," Simon says. Understatement; it's been quite some time since Isabelle met the two of them, and then only as Jace's new girlfriend and her friend. That doesn't stop Clary from dramatically lamenting how unfair and mean Isabelle and Simon are to her, every now and then.

"Where's Alec?" Clary asks, glancing around the shop. The shift from cold to warm has had her remove her scarf entirely, the thick, red-and-orange yarn now bunched up in her hands.

"Sleeping in," Isabelle says, perhaps a little too smugly and conspiringly. Clary's eyebrows rise.

"I'm sorry, what now?" she says calmly, and Isabelle's smile widens into a full grin.

"That's what he told me," she says, leaning back in the chair, casually flipping her magazine shut. "I'm sure that Magnus spending the night has nothing to do with it."

"Who is this Magnus guy, anyway?" Simon asks, while Clary just gasps gleefully. "I keep hearing about him, but I've never even seen the guy."

"He's a mystery," Clary says seriously, "shrouded in a perfectly contoured enigma." She scrunches up her face in an―in Isabelle's opinion―adorable frown. "That said, I've never seen him, either. My impression is just based on what Izzy's told me."

"It's true, though," Isabelle confirms, her mind briefly wandering to the understated yet bold makeup look Alec's new beau favors. She has yet to outright ask him for tips.

"That's it?" Simon says, unimpressed. "Strong contour game is all it takes to turn Alec into a swooning maiden?"

Isabelle and Clary both respond by just giving him a look, and Simon inclines his head, realizing that there must be so much more to this elusive Magnus Bane than that.

"Who knows, though," Clary says after a moment. "We might actually get to meet him, soon."

"You might," Isabelle says, thinking of their plans to get together next weekend. "Hopefully we won't scare him off." Simon emits a comically offended huff, but says nothing. "So what does bring you two here, by the way? I know it's not just to say hi."

"It could be," Clary says evasively, but quickly admits, "but I could also use some supplies."

"_We _could," Simon points out. "Or rather, _I _could, and I need some help."

"That's what I'm here for," Isabelle says, standing up. It's a very comfortable chair, but she's been sitting down pretty much since she got here, and it's nice to stretch a bit. "What do you need?"

"Well, I think I finally figured out what kind of grimoire I want," Simon says, excitement rising a little. "I mean, need. Want. I guess, I don't know."

"They tend to be the same thing, with this stuff," Isabelle chuckles, leading both Simon and Clary through the small shop to the aisle where notebooks and potential grimoires of different colors, shapes, and sizes line the shelves. "Just... go with your gut."

Simon nods, turning to the selection in front of him. Immediately, he looks a little overwhelmed, but quickly settles down and starts looking with a more deliberate gaze. Isabelle knows he's been over-thinking all of this since he first got into the craft, barely a year ago.

Clary was born into it, like Isabelle and her family were, though she grew up without it present in her life the same way; her mother distanced herself from other witches, and thereby all their culture and traditions. Clary has been rediscovering a lot of it for the past few years, now fully comfortable with it all as though she never left.

Simon, on the other hand, has only been distantly acquainted with the idea of witchcraft for most of his life. A childhood friend of Clary's, they reconnected in college, and for the past year or so, Simon has explored the craft and its nuances, himself. Some witches―such as Isabelle's own family―would look down on someone like that. Because while magick and aptitude has little to do with blood and heritage―anyone can be or become a witch―being born and raised with the craft is, by some, considered more "pure" than discovering it later in life. As though not knowing it from birth somehow matters in whether or not you are a true witch.

It doesn't. Isabelle knows that from both an objective and subjective standpoint.

As the three of them discuss the options presented―picking one's grimoire may not be a big, permanent decision, but it's still pretty great to finally find the perfect one, especially your first―the bell above the shop door jingles softly. Isabelle doesn't pay it much attention; customers aren't exactly expecting to be individually greeted as they enter. She does, however, look up when someone calls out.

"Hello?" the visitor says, looking around as she slowly makes her way into the shop. Isabelle leaves Simon and Clary to talk amongst themselves, instead making her way over to the entrance.

"Hi," she says, with a friendly smile. "You need any help with anything?"

The girl smiles, a pleasant curve to her mouth.

"Yeah, uh," she says, clearing her throat. "I've got a delivery. Outside."

She belatedly gestures with her shoulder toward the door behind her, hands in the pockets of her hip-length, puffy jacket. Isabelle glimpses a pair of high-waisted jeans underneath, and large hoop earrings peeking out from beneath the girl's dark, curly hair.

"A delivery of what, exactly?" Isabelle asks, with a small laugh, folding her arms. The girl laughs as well, almost a little self-consciously.

"Cider," she clarifies. "And must and juice and various other drinks, spelled and otherwise."

"Oh," Isabelle says. "There's usually a delivery service."

"Right," the girl admits. "But my boss forgot to book it, so I offered to go, instead. Make sure you get your stuff on time."

Isabelle nods, vaguely remembering Alec mention how his usual provider had taken on an apprentice of sorts, and how these deliveries tend to be unpredictable at best, in terms of sticking to a schedule. So this seems to be an improvement.

"Right," Isabelle says. "And you are?"

"Maia," the girl says. There's something confident about her stance, about the energy she radiates, her aura. Isabelle imagines she's normally a steadfast, perhaps a little rash kind of person. She even holds out her hand, after a moment's hesitation, and Isabelle shakes it.

"Isabelle," she says. Maia's bare hand is warm, despite the cold outside. "My brother owns the shop, but he's not in, right now."

"Got it," Maia says, withdrawing her hand. She puts it back in her pocket. "Uh, well, I've got crates of this stuff in the van. I'll go get it, just thought I'd check in first."

"No problem," Isabelle says, and Maia gives her a nod, turning back around.

As she heads back outside, Isabelle pauses for a moment, glancing back over at Clary and Simon. They seem to be in the middle of a discussion about whether Simon might need one or five gigabytes on his designated grimoire flash drive, Clary questioning if Simon even needs _one, _to be honest. Simon, meanwhile, insists that Clary is the one who encouraged him to choose carefully ("I can't just go update with a new one if this runs out of space, doesn't seem very respectful to the whole thing, so better safe than sorry."). Isabelle figures they'll be fine on their own for a bit, and instead follows Maia out the door.

She doesn't bother grabbing her jacket from the back room as she heads outside, and it's like stepping through a wall, the November cold immediately prickling at her exposed face. She suddenly very much appreciates the soft cashmere of the slightly oversized, taupe turtleneck sweater she's currently wearing―it was a birthday gift from her brothers, last year.

"Hey," she says, making her way over to the van parked just by the sidewalk. The do have a back door, with a small yard outside (emphasis on "small"), but it's just easier to take deliveries from the front. They tend to not be very big, anyway, given the size of the shop and the size of the companies from which they get their supplies.

Maia looks up, already having opened the back of the van. It's an unimpressive thing, on the smaller side, white with a nondescript logo on the side. _Jade Wolf, _it says.

"Hey," Maia says, a surprised smile on her face. She's wearing gloves now, thick and warm.

"Thought I might give you a hand," Isabelle says, folding her arms against the cold, absently drawing a half-complex symbol against her side, the soft fabric soothing against her fingertips. Within seconds―she barely needs to focus, the spell as easy as breathing―a ripple of warmth spreads across the fabric, enveloping her in a temporary shield against the freezing temperature around her. She relaxes her shoulders, no longer on the verge of shivering.

"Aw, you don't have to do that," Maia says, almost a little teasingly. Isabelle lifts her chin.

"I insist," she says, and Maia huffs a laugh.

"Alright," she says, quickly relenting. She cocks her head at the several small crates in the van, all of them filled up with bottles of different sizes and colors, all with similar designs on their labels. "Makes my job easier."

It's quick work, the two of them only needing three turns to bring everything inside, and Isabelle counts the crates and their contents, just as Maia sets down the last two on the floor by the counter.

"What, you don't trust me?" Maia says easily, and Isabelle raises her eyebrows with a smile.

"We're all good," she says in the same familiar tone of voice, and Maia nods, curving her mouth in a half-grin.

"Good," she says. Then she exhales, looks around the shop. Isabelle glances over at Simon and Clary, who seem to have moved on to the candle section. "This is a nice place."

"Yeah," Isabelle agrees, turning back to Maia, whose brown eyes are still sweeping the room. "Alec's pride and joy."

"I can imagine." Maia cocks her head. "Never actually been here, before. I've been meaning to, considering you're such loyal customers." She gives Isabelle a pointed look. "But also, the place I usually go to has become a little..."

"Impersonal?" Isabelle suggests; that's often the case with such shops, when they get a little too big.

"Corporate," Maia says. "Maybe."

Isabelle nods.

"Well," she says, "you're welcome here, anytime."

Maia gives her a smile, eyeing her up and down so quickly that Isabelle just barely catches it.

"I might take you up on that," she says. "You know, with the deliveries, and all."

"Of course," Isabelle says, with a mock-serious frown. "We appreciate it."

Maia just laughs warmly. She taps her gloved fingers against the counter, before straightening a little where she stands.

"Well, I should get going," she says. "But, uh. I'll see you around."

"Yeah," Isabelle says, raising her hand in a half-wave as Maia backs away toward the door. "Bye."

Maia just nods, before leaving, the door falling shut behind her, and Isabelle watches through the large shop window as the van drives off a few moments later. She makes her way back to her bickering friends, trying not to smile too hard.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [the twitters](http://twitter.com/lemonoclefox)!


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